


It's Not for Me to Say

by sarahstarkiller



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Billy is trying, Billy likes to read, First Kiss, Handcuffs, Hopper ships it, M/M, Slow Dancing, Underage Drinking, Unexpected Friendship, and other stuff whoops, bc he's a nerd, bonding over shitty teachers, mama bear Steve Harrington, stuck together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-22
Updated: 2019-02-22
Packaged: 2019-11-03 23:24:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17887100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahstarkiller/pseuds/sarahstarkiller
Summary: It’s the end of March and the air is still crisp. The grass is getting greener and flowers are budding. The gray clouds go rolling by high above the movie theater, the library, the peaks of the small houses across the street. The sky’s orange where the sun is setting, navy everywhere else and Billy has no business looking like a model on the sidewalk like that, lighting a cigarette with the hand not connected to Steve. Looking as if he’s not the worst person Steve’s ever known. Fuck him and his stupid fucking fists.





	It's Not for Me to Say

Hopper drags them up by their shirts and shoves them in the back of his car when they don’t move fast enough. He shuts the door with purpose and hops in the front seat.

 

“Wanna tell me what it was this time?” He shouts in the confined space, red-faced and looking very much like Steve remembers his dad looking when Steve had thrown a party and got the cops called on him for being too loud. “Did you say something he didn’t like?” Hopper points a finger at Steve, and then points at Billy and says, “You look at him the wrong way again?”

 

Steve opens his mouth to answer but Hopper cuts him off. “I’m not looking for an explanation, Harrington.” And then he starts the car and speeds away from the alley next to the movie theater. “I’m taking you two to the station.”

 

Steve just groans and slumps against the seat, but Billy visibly tenses. He sits straight up with his jaw set and stares ahead of himself. Looking at him makes Steve angry, so he turns to the window and wipes away the blood pouring from his nose. He touches his fingertips to his bruising cheek and winces.

 

Luckily, it wasn’t for nothing. Billy has a split and bloodied lip as well as a black eye to prove that. Steve’s efforts didn’t go unnoticed.

 

The theater is two seconds from the police station, so Hopper’s parking in no time at all. Steve considers letting Hop drag him out, as he’s pretty certain his ribs are bruised and he’s not crazy about the idea of moving. He does, however, slide out of the car and onto the concrete before following Hopper and Billy into the building.

 

There’s a woman at the front desk who greets Hopper and Steve can see behind her where the two cops who had broken up his fight with Jonathan are playing cards. He looks at his shoes when they seem to chuckle at his presence in the station.

 

Hopper turns to them and says sternly, “My office.  _ Now.” _

 

This feels all too much like a scolding from the school principal.  _ “Was putting a thumbtack on Mr. Krane’s chair really worth it?”  _ and,  _ “Your grades are concerning, Mr. Harrington. Graduation’s right around the corner, and colleges…”  _ blah, blah, blah. Steve usually tunes out the moment college is brought up. It’s a skill he’s been honing since freshman year.

 

But this isn’t school, it’s the  _ law  _ and Hopper is much more intimidating than Principal Rushman.

 

He follows Billy into Hopper’s office and takes a seat in front of his desk. Billy hangs back near the doorway, fishes a cigarette and his lighter from the pocket of his jean jacket, and lights up. Steve glares at him and hopes his hatred is  _ felt _ through his gaze.

 

Billy’s snake-like eyes slide over to him and he grins, letting out a cloud of smoke. Message received, then.

 

Hopper enters and immediately snatches Billy’s cigarette from his mouth. When Billy starts complaining, Hopper takes him by his jacket and pushes him into the seat next to Steve’s.

 

He sits across from the two boys, stubs the cigarette out in his ashtray and doesn’t say anything. The woman from the front desk brings him a cup of steaming coffee and he quietly thanks her.

 

Finally, “What happened.”

 

It’s a question but Hopper sounds so stern it seems more like a demand.

 

Steve looks at Billy - it’s his  _ fault,  _ after all - but Billy just raises his brows in challenge and says not a word.

 

“He happened,” Steve grumbles while pointing at the rat next to him.

 

Hopper looks unenthused. “Can you explain what you mean?”

 

Steve huffs because words are not his strong suit, especially not when he’s frustrated. “Max came to me and was like, ‘my brother’s being an asshole again,’ so I asked her what he was doing and she said he broke her skateboard,” he rushes out and then looks pointedly at Billy with narrowed eyes,  _ “again.” _

 

Maybe it’s a trick his eyes play on him, but Steve swears Billy bares his teeth at him for a split second.

 

“Is that true, Hargrove?” Hopper takes a gulp of his coffee.

 

Billy licks his lips and nods once, still looking like he’s going to rip Hopper apart any moment  now. “Yeah. It is.”

 

“Can I ask you  _ why _ you broke your sister’s skateboard?”

 

“You can,” Billy agrees and crosses his arms. He doesn’t say anything else.

 

Steve scoffs.  _ Bastard. _

 

Hopper sighs when he realizes Billy’s not going to answer. “So, Steve,” he says while he pinches the bridge of his nose. Steve sits up and winces at how the movement makes his ribs ache. “Let me piece this together. Hargrove here breaks his sister’s skateboard, she complains about it to you, and you feel the need to take matters into your own hands?”

 

Steve’s chest fills with anger and his fingertips buzz with adrenaline. “W-well if I didn’t do anything, no one would.”

 

“So you don’t think you should’ve just let their parents deal with this?” Hopper asks him and seems to be genuinely confused.

 

_ “No,”  _ Steve insists and his blood is pumping hard, his nose throbs so he touches it, wincing. “No one would do anything.”

 

Hopper purses his lips and stays quiet. Steve feels Billy’s glare but he ignores him.

 

“Stay here. Don’t kill each other.” And then Hopper gets up and heads out of his office, closing the door behind him.

 

After a few minutes of glorious silence in which Steve focuses on not passing out from how bad his nose hurts, Billy speaks up.

 

“You don’t know shit, Harrington,” he snarls, looking at Hopper’s desk. He turns to pierce Steve with his wild eyes. “You think you’re tough shit but you’re not. Stay out of my business.”

 

“I would love to,” Steve agrees. “But as long as you keep bothering Max, I’m gonna keep getting in your business.”

 

Billy’s breathing hard and he looks as though he’s about to pounce when Hopper comes back in.

 

“Get up, both of you.”

 

They stand, and Steve’s apparently in Billy’s space because he gets shoved to the side. That’s okay, though. The farther away from Billy, the better.

 

Hopper looks between the two of them seriously. “You see these?” And then he shows them what he’s holding.

 

Handcuffs.

 

“Are you arresting him?” Steve asks because he knows what’s about to happen and he’s just trying to ignore it with humor. “‘Cause that would be good.”

 

“Not today,” Hopper answers and moves closer to them. They both flinch and step back. “I’m cuffing you to each other. Give me your hands.”

 

_ “Fuck off,”  _ Billy spits venomously, holding his hand far away from Hopper’s handcuffs. “I’ll apologize, I don’t care. I’m not doing that shit.”

 

“Yeah, what he said,” Steve mumbles. They don’t hear him.

 

“An apology would be great,” Hopper nods and he’s not able to hide how much he’s enjoying this. “But I’m gonna need your hand, too.”

 

Billy stares back at Hopper, unwavering. He holds his hands behind his back like a child who’s stolen candy.

 

“Steve?” Hopper holds the cuffs out to him expectantly. Steve follows Billy’s lead and hides his hands from view. Hopper sighs but it turns into a chuckle. “Or I could just, y’know, tell your parents. Let them sort it out on their own.”

 

To Steve’s surprise, Billy’s hand comes flying out from behind him and he offers it willingly to Hopper. Hopper cuffs him and then takes the other handcuff, waiting for Steve to comply.

 

“C’mon, Harrington, don’t be a pussy.” Billy’s looking at him boredly.

 

And it’s mostly Billy’s challenge that makes him give his hand over, not even the threat of his parents finding out about yet another fight of his.

 

Hopper locks Steve’s wrist in with a  _ click _ and that’s that. They’re officially stuck together. Steve’s left hand to Billy’s right.

 

“How long?” Billy asks and keeps his eyes closed, likely already preparing for the worst.

 

“Just until morning,” Hopper says and goes to sit behind his desk. “And, look,” he sighs, addressing them seriously. “I think you guys could actually be friends.”

 

If Hopper says anything else, it’s drowned out by Billy’s and Steve’s wild, sarcastic laughter.

 

“I’d rather be friends with a rock, Chief,” Billy sneers.

 

“Why, because no one else can tolerate you?”

 

Billy shoves Steve with his cuffed hand.

 

“See? You’re already flirting,” Hopper points out happily. Steve tenses. “If I find out that you fought again, or if I find out you guys broke out, I’ll tell your parents.”

 

Neither of them say anything. Hopper continues with a stern tone, “I’m getting real sick of your shit.  _ Both  _ of you. You can both do better.”

 

Steve doubts Billy has the capability to better himself; he’s pretty sure this asshole is as nice as he’s ever going to be. But he’s not going to argue with Hopper. The last thing he needs is his dad finding out and believing Steve’s even more of a loser than he’d previously thought.

 

“Now,” Hopper smiles at them and folds his hands on his desk. “Get the hell out of my office.”

 

Against his better judgment, Steve feels some kind of lame argument start to form on the tip of his tongue but Billy’s dragging him out before he can get them into more trouble.

 

The cops from before cackle obnoxiously when they see Billy and Steve handcuffed together and the woman at the desk just shakes her head, smiling sadly. Steve wants to disappear. He’s glad the sun’s rapidly setting outside as the dark of night may shield his embarrassment from the public.

 

As soon as the door to the police station swings closed behind them, a gust of freezing wind has Billy’s teeth chattering.

 

It’s the end of March and the air is still crisp. The grass is getting greener and flowers are budding. The gray clouds go rolling by high above the movie theater, the library, the peaks of the small houses across the street. The sky’s orange where the sun is setting, navy everywhere else and Billy has no business looking like a model on the sidewalk like that, lighting a cigarette with the hand not connected to Steve. Looking as if he’s not the worst person Steve’s ever known. Fuck him and his stupid fucking fists.

 

“I’m freezing my ass off,” Billy mumbles around the cigarette looking thoroughly jaded. Steve is aware he’s staring, face frozen in a dumb, loopy daze. He blinks and looks over to the sunset, past Billy’s head. “Let’s get out of here before someone sees us.”

 

_ “Jesus,” _ Steve mutters, thinking of what someone from school would say if they saw. Horrifying.

 

He lets Billy lead the way further into town, even though that’s definitely not where they should be going. “Maybe if you actually buttoned your shirts up, you wouldn’t be so cold.” Steve’s own shiver betrays him.

 

“Weird that you noticed.”

 

“It’s hard not to when you’re making such a spectacle of yourself.”

 

Billy rolls his eyes. When they’re in front of the library, he makes a turn for the entrance.

 

“What, the library?” Yeah, not Steve’s scene. No thanks. “Why?”

 

Billy looks at him like he’s stupid. “We have a book report due on Wednesday.”

 

“And you’re actually gonna do it?”

 

Billy looks so horrified it’s almost amusing. “You’re  _ not?”  _ He rolls his eyes then and fixes his face with his usual  _ don’t care _ look. “Of course you’re not.”

 

“I didn’t say that,” Steve is quick to defend himself (though he definitely didn’t even know about the assignment). “I’m just… not doing it this weekend.” He feels stupid now.

 

Billy blinks slowly. “Do you even know what book we’re reading?”

 

“Uh,” Steve looks anywhere that’s not full of Billy’s judgmental gaze. “Something about Buddha?”

 

Billy sighs like he’s in pain. “Jesus, Harrington.  _ Siddhartha.” _

 

“Right.” Steve eventually lets his eyes meet Billy’s.

 

Billy grins and for a split second it’s the most genuine smile Steve’s ever seen on his face. But then he’s trying to bite his lip, hide it, smoke to make it disappear. Steve wants to say, ‘don’t do that.’ But he doesn’t ‘cause that would be weird and today has been weird enough.

 

“Right.” Billy flicks his cigarette onto the street and leads the way up the steps to the library with Steve moping behind him.

 

Upon entering, they’re met with the glaring eyes of a group of middle-aged women sitting in a circle. They seem to have interrupted an important discussion as they all stare at Steve and Billy, flabbergasted. Billy barely glances at them, though. He just walks in like he owns the damn place. The ladies slowly resume their discussion.

 

Steve follows dumbly but when his cheek throbs, he’s reminded of how crazy they probably look; two teenage boys covered in bruises and blood, handcuffed to each other. He yanks on the cuffs and whispers, “Shouldn’t we clean up? We’re only gonna draw more attention to ourselves this way…”

 

Billy barely acknowledges that he’s heard Steve but he leads them to the men’s room anyway.

 

“I didn’t even know the library was open this late,” Steve remarks after wetting a paper towel and gently wiping away the blood under his nose. He glances into the mirror next to him and sees Billy looking back. Billy licks his bottom lip slowly, over the dried blood where Steve’s fist split his skin, and Steve’s gaze follows the movement. Too intently. He looks away quickly, trying to play it off. No big deal. His heart is fine. His feelings make sense.

 

“Are you expecting me to be shocked?” Billy drawls as he wipes at his mouth. “Pretty boy like you? Too busy staring in the mirror to read a book.”

 

“I’ve read books,” Steve says and resists letting his voice grow too loud in the confined space. “Just not… lately…”

 

“Really?” Billy asks like he’s wildly impressed. He shuts the water off, fixes his curls in the mirror and they leave the bathroom. “I thought you couldn’t read.”

 

Steve picks his left hand up, Billy’s right with it, and swings it by Billy’s head, letting his own hand smack him in the eye. The eye that’s not black and blue.

 

“Don’t touch me.”

 

“I didn’t touch you, dipshit.”

 

Billy scoffs because he really can’t argue with that, and seems to know exactly where he’s going when he brings them to a section in the back of the library.

 

Steve lets him peruse for a minute, quietly accepting how fucked his life has become in the past year and is almost sleeping on his feet when Billy tugs on the chain connecting them.

 

“This way, asshole.”

 

Billy brings them to an abandoned table in the back and pulls a chair out, letting it scrape against the wood floor (with purpose, Steve believes). Steve takes the seat opposite him because this is  _ not _ a fucking study date and he’s very happy to take a nap while Billy reads or whatever.

 

The lighting in the library is low, almost orange like the sunset outside. Billy’s curly hair looks like a million tiny halos around his face.

 

_ Christ. _ How hard did Billy punch him? He must be concussed.

 

He makes a face at himself and lays his head down on the table, his arm held above his head so Billy can flip through this book he’s supposed to be reading.

 

Steve dozes off, still partly conscious and able to hear the women in the front talking about their book and the buzz of the lights above them. Maybe half an hour later, he’s slowly brought to complete consciousness by the sound of Billy’s voice. His first sight is the window to his right; outside the night sky is full of twinkling stars. He listens to Billy.

 

“‘When someone seeks,’ Siddhartha answered, ‘then it happens all too easily that his eyes will see only the thing he is seeking, that he cannot find anything, cannot let anything in, because he is always thinking only of that thing he seeks, because he has a goal, because he is possessed by the goal. Seeking means: having a goal. But finding means: being free, being open, having no goal. You, Venerable One, may indeed be a seeker, for, striving toward your goal, there is much you do not see which is right before your eyes.’” Billy’s voice is smooth and low and something strange stirs inside Steve’s gut at the observation. He reads with phenomenal diction and puts emphasis on all the right words, never stumbling. He thought Billy would sound like every kid their age when they read out loud: bored and toneless, never knowing when to pause.

 

But Billy reads with interest, maybe even passion. It’s intriguing.

 

He continues to read aloud, just so the two of them can hear although Steve gives no indication that he’s awake, preferring to listen intently to Billy’s soothing voice.

 

“‘...whose smile reminded him of everything he had ever loved in all his life, everything he had ever in all his life valued and held sacred.’” Billy’s quiet for a while and then he hums softly to himself.

 

Steve’s upset the book is done.

 

He’s hit over the head suddenly with the very book he’d been enjoying moments ago, and he sits up quickly, taking his hand with him. Billy drops the book and Steve pulls half his body onto the table. “Dickhead,” Billy mumbles.

 

“Done?” Steve asks and they’re both careful as they stand. Billy doesn’t answer as he brings the book back to its spot, and then they head for the exit. “Was it any good?”

 

“You’d hate it,” Billy answers easily, surveying their surroundings. “Fuck, I’m  _ starving.” _

 

Steve’s stomach growls in solidarity. “There’s a diner around the corner. They have pretty good burgers, if you want.” He runs a hand through his hair, wincing at how gross it feels and probably  _ looks, _ too.

 

Billy gives him a look. “Sure. It’s a date. Lead the way.”

 

“It’s definitely not a date, but okay.”

 

Steve walks them to the diner and he’s glad to notice how they naturally develop a rhythm, gently swinging their connected hands together. He feels his mouth quirk up into a bashful smile and looks across the street to hide his face from Billy.  _ God, _ he has to see a neurologist.

 

There’s maybe three other people eating at the diner and none of them so much as glance in their direction.  _ This town has seen worse, _ Steve reminds himself. They sit on the red stools at the counter for convenience and hide the handcuffs from view of their waitress. Steve orders a soda and a hamburger. Billy gets a lemonade and a club sandwich with fries.

 

For a few minutes after they order, things are awkwardly quiet. Steve racks his brain for something to say, but it seems as though he has nothing in common with Billy. Thankfully, Billy speaks first and saves him from the responsibility.

 

“How’s that Wheeler girl you’re seeing?” His interest is so obviously forced it makes Steve cringe on the inside.

 

“Um…” Steve fiddles with the bottle of ketchup in front of him, using the hand attached to Billy’s own. Their waitress brings their drinks and he gulps down half his glass. “We’re not… we’re not dating anymore, if that’s what you’re asking. And you know her name.”

 

“Ugh, finally.”

 

Steve turns sharply to look at him. “Excuse me?”

 

“C’mon, Harrington, we both know you can do so much better.” He says it like they’ve discussed it before.

 

“What are you talking about? Nancy’s not - she isn’t…” Steve stammers and then takes a frustrated breath, calming himself. “Nancy’s great. So I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

 

“I never said she’s not great,” Billy points out and is totally unfazed by Steve’s mini freak out. “I don’t fucking know her. I just think there’s someone better for you.”

 

Steve looks at him suspiciously. “Gee, thanks. What are you, my therapist?”

 

“No, but it wouldn’t hurt you to see one.” Billy flashes him a smile full of white teeth and it’s so dazzling Steve has to laugh at how fucked he is.

 

“You’re probably right.”

 

“Of course I’m right.”

 

“We’ll see about that.”

 

They get their food and eat like wolves, devouring everything in sight. Except not really, because Billy still has a few fries left on his plate when they’re both leaning with their elbows on the counter, full, talking about basketball. Steve snatches a few of Billy’s fries after he asks him about his coaches in California, not even fully aware of how the subject came up. But Billy talks and he gets this look on his face like his mind is somewhere else yet still entirely focused on Steve; like no one else exists. It’s exhilarating in a way Steve has never known before, but he wants to keep experiencing it so he listens intently to Billy’s stories. Billy’s a good storyteller, he never gets caught up on the wrong details like Steve does.

 

“Steve?”

 

His first name catches him off guard. He blinks, realizing Billy’s expecting something. “W-what?”

 

Billy grins a little. “Oh, pretty boy,” he rolls his eyes good naturedly and Steve nearly asks him to call him pretty again. “I said, how did you get into basketball?”

 

“Oh,” and then he frowns a little at the memory. “Uh, my dad signed me up when I was little. And then he made me play when I was in middle school, and again as a freshman, and by that time people expected stuff from me, so. I did what was expected.” Steve opens a tiny packet of salt and dumps it on the table, running his fingers through it distractedly. “I wanted to play baseball. I did actually, when I was, like, ten. But my dad told me I wasn’t good and that I should stick to basketball, but obviously,” he gestures at Billy, “some people are a lot better than I am.” He pauses for a minute, thinking of the bat in the trunk of his car, still parked outside the theater. “I’ll have you know, though, that I can do serious damage with a bat.”

 

“I believe it,” Billy grins lazily and Steve wants to slap himself when he becomes giddy at the sight of it. “If it makes you feel any better, the baseball coach is an asshole. Or so I’m told.”

 

“You’re well informed,” Steve chuckles. “But also, every coach at Hawkins is an asshole.”

 

“I’ll drink to that,” Billy smiles and takes a sip of his lemonade. “The teachers here are on some shit, too.”

 

“Yeah, I know,” Steve agrees, rolling his eyes at the mere thought of them. “I swear they’re paid to piss us off as much as possible.”

 

“I could single handedly make them rich,” Billy remarks. Steve chokes on his soda, laughing, and Billy’s eyes shine at the sight. “Seriously though, what the fuck? Ms. Claremont acts like she has a fucking troll living in her ass.”

 

Steve can’t help the ridiculous laugh he lets loose at that.

 

“And why did I take German at your shitty school? I’m pretty sure Mr. Reichner is the Antichrist.”

 

Steve’s head is in his arms on the counter as he cracks up, trying to be polite and muffle the sound. He really must have brain damage if Billy Hargrove is making him laugh this hard.

 

“Remember,” he gasps through his laughter. “Remember when Mrs. Wellick kicked you out for dropping your pen?”

 

“Oh my  _ god, _ Harrington, how could I forget?” Billy chuckles and Steve is only then able to calm down, watching Billy’s tongue poke out from behind his sharp teeth.

 

A group of kids their age come stumbling in and they decide to leave. Steve pays, ignoring whatever Billy says about  _ “charity” _ and they walk outside, back into the frigid night air.

 

Billy lights a cigarette, not really being careful with the hand connected to Steve, and squats against the building. Steve is forced to join him and he sits on the cold ground, full and satisfied and confused.

 

Billy nudges him, offering the cigarette begrudgingly. Steve takes it and thanks him, ignoring how Billy waves him off and takes a long drag. It burns deliciously and Steve’s fucked up brain reminds him of how Billy had his mouth around the same thing seconds ago. He hands it back before he can let that thought get out of hand.

 

“Should we go to your house and see if we can get out of this?” Steve suggests and absolutely loathes the part of him that screams,  _ no! _

 

“We can’t go to my house, not like this.” Billy fishes his keys out of the pocket of his jacket. “The Chief said we couldn’t break out, anyway.”

 

“Sure, but don’t you know how to unlock these things?” Steve actually has to force himself to talk like he wants out, to make it seem like he’s not beginning to enjoy Billy’s company. When can he schedule an appointment with a neurologist? “How would Hopper ever find out?”

 

“Fucking  _ commit _ to it, Harrington,” Billy growls jokingly, getting in his face with a glare that turns into a grin. The proximity makes Steve so dizzy he just has to laugh.

 

“Okay. I’m committed.”

 

Billy nods, taking a drag. “Good,” he stands, pulling Steve onto his feet. “Then where are we going, pretty boy?” He shivers, pulling his jean jacket tighter around him.

 

“Somewhere warm,” Steve says and his mouth just keeps moving without consulting his brain. “My house.”

 

“Your parents?”

 

“Not home. Now or, like, ever.”

 

“That sounds like paradise to me. This way.”

 

And so Billy leads them down the street to where his Camaro is parked. Before he opens the door, he nods his head in the direction of the alley.  _ The _ alley.

 

“Remember when you assaulted me in that alleyway?”

 

“Remember when you shut the fuck up and opened the goddamn door?” Steve laughs through shivers.

 

“Doesn’t ring a bell.” But he opens the door anyway and then looks at Steve. “How the fuck are we gonna do this?”

 

Steve glances behind him into the car. “Carefully,” and then he shimmies into the car, dragging Billy in behind him. He climbs over the divider and slumps into the passenger seat, hair flopping into his face. Billy pulls the door closed and starts the car. “Like a ninja.”

 

“Yeah, okay. More like a drunk gazelle.”

 

“Gazelle’s are graceful, was that a compliment?”

 

“Not drunk ones. And no, never.” Billy pulls away from the curb, dragging Steve’s hand with every turn of the wheel.

 

Steve tells him his address and Billy turns the radio on. Some song Steve’s never heard before plays and he takes in the scent of the car like some kind of obsessive girl. It smells like cigarettes, sure, and the hairspray Billy uses. There’s a hint of his cologne, fresh and spicy, but also something distinctly Billy. Something sweet and sharp, he can’t describe it but he’ll always remember it.

 

Eventually, Billy rests his right hand on his knee and drives with his left. Steve’s fingers are centimeters away from Billy’s leg and his fingers twitch involuntarily. Must be an effect of the concussion.

 

Getting out of the car is harder than getting in. Billy insists on getting out on his side, which means Steve has to stumble out as awkwardly as he came in. Like a drunk gazelle.

 

Steve frowns as he straightens his jacket out. “Why would you make me do that? I have longer legs than you.”

 

Billy whistles as he runs his eyes up and down Steve’s legs. “Hell yeah you do, amigo. They’re nice, too.”

 

Steve thinks he’s dead for a good minute, heat rushing to his face despite knowing it was just a stupid joke at his expense. He drops his keys when he tries to unlock his front door. He lets them inside and turns the lights on, toeing his shoes off. Billy follows suit, taking in his surroundings with wide eyes.

 

“What the shit, Harrington?”

 

And then Billy’s pulling him along through his own home, his socked feet padding across hardwood and carpets alike. The word  _ cute _ pops up in Steve’s brain and he has to force it to leave.

 

“Um,” his throat feels raw. “This is the living room, obviously.” Billy pulls him over to the bookcase, bending over to look at the framed photographs. Billy lets his gaze wander and then he’s striding toward the sliding glass doors. “Yeah, that’s the pool.”

 

“Is that a fucking  _ hot tub?” _

 

“Yes.” For some reason, Steve’s embarrassed. Maybe it’s because he knows his house is nice but no one else is aware of how fucking  _ lonely _ it is. Or maybe it’s something else.

 

Billy moves on from the hot tub pretty quickly. “This is the living room we only use for parties. You can tell by the complete absence of life in here.”

 

Billy lets out a genuine, uninhibited laugh at that. Steve looks at him in amazement, feeling a little proud. It’s a beautiful sound.

 

_ Fuck. _

 

They head upstairs and along the way Steve turns every light on. He’s glad when Billy doesn’t ask why.

 

“Bathroom,” Steve points out boredly.

 

“Perfect. I gotta piss.”

 

“Jesus Christ, can’t you hold it?” He is not, is  _ not _ standing next to Billy Hargrove while he pees.

 

“Sure I can, but you can if you want to.” Steve’s confused for a second, but the way Billy sticks his tongue out clears things right up.

 

“You’re gross,” Steve chuckles like it pains him to. It kind of does, his ribs are all fucked up.

 

Billy flicks the bathroom light on and unzips in front of the toilet. Steve turns the other way and twists his hand toward himself, fucking dying every second this shit goes on.

 

“Are you a fucking hose or something?! C’mon, man!” Steve is mostly upset that he also has to pee and at some point will have to pull his dick out with Billy in the same room, his hand  _ right fucking next to his dick. _

 

There are  _ boundaries. _

 

“Commit, Steve!”

 

Steve rolls his eyes and at last Billy zips back up. Steve sighs in relief, shoving him out of the way as he unzips his jeans. Billy looks at the ceiling until he’s done.

 

“Got any booze in this mansion?”

 

“You’re not a very polite guest,” Steve chides.

 

“You’re not a very polite host, if you don’t give me something to drink.” Billy winks at him when he sighs in exasperation.

 

“Fine.”

 

Steve leads them downstairs and into the spacious kitchen where he rummages through his parents’ alcohol cabinet, the far left one at the bottom. Steve holds up various bottles of whiskey, vodka, rum, and tequila, all of which Billy frowns at. He takes a few of them for further inspection but is only satisfied when Steve holds up a bottle of red wine. Billy snatches it up.

 

“This’ll do.”

 

“I’m glad you approve,” Steve jests and pulls two glasses from the cabinet. He’s not a big fan of red wine, especially not the kind Billy’s currently making eyes at.

 

Steve pours them both a glass and it feels strangely romantic, like Billy’s a girl he’s about to sleep with and promise to call the next day, not a guy he’s handcuffed to for punching him in the face.

 

“To getting assaulted in alleyways,” Billy holds his glass up and Steve reluctantly clinks his against Billy’s.

 

He takes a sip and tries not to make a face at the dryness of the wine. Billy seems to honestly enjoy it. “For the record, I never planned on punching you.”

 

“Hm. I guess I just have that effect on pretty boys like you.” Billy swallows down the rest of his wine and Steve quickly does the same. If Billy plans on getting drunk, he knows he’ll have to also be drunk to deal with  _ that. _

 

Steve refills their glasses. “Yeah, especially when you  _ tell _ them to.”

 

Billy makes a face.

 

It’s true though. Steve had told him to back off and to either fix Max’s board or buy her a new one. Then Billy had smirked, pulled him into that alley and said, “You want me to make it up to her? Fucking hit me, then. Hit me.” Steve wasn’t going to, but then Billy pulled him close and  _ dared _ him to.

 

Looking at Billy now, he doesn’t loathe him as much anymore. More than anything, he’s curious when he knows he shouldn’t be. He wants to understand Billy and help him if he can, which is stupid because why the fuck does he care to help the guy that almost killed him just a few months ago? And there’s also that pesky thought he keeps having regarding Billy’s eyes and his smile and his laugh. He takes a big sip of wine.

 

He couldn’t help Billy if he tried. The guy  _ hates _ Steve, he’d never let him close enough. He’d never be friends with Steve. This whole buddy-buddy dynamic they’ve got going on tonight is only due to the handcuffs binding them together. Billy wouldn’t hesitate to deck him if Hopper hadn’t threatened them into getting along.

 

Steve realizes he’s been staring at Billy’s black eye, deep in thoughts that have etched a pained frown into his face. He shakes his head minutely and walks over to the freezer with a displeased Billy behind him. He sets his glass on the counter and opens the freezer, reaching into the back to grab a bag of frozen peas. He’s getting good at this one handed thing.

 

He wordlessly offers the bag to Billy. Billy sips his wine and looks at the peas, calculating. “You need that more than me, I’m sure.”

 

Steve rolls his eyes at Billy’s insufferable sense of pride and presses the cold bag to his bruised cheek. It feels divine. “Fine, have it your way, Hargrove.”

 

“Gimme,” Billy demands petulantly after placing his glass on the counter. He grabs the peas from Steve’s hand and holds it to his eye, sighing when it touches his skin. “You’ve got a mean swing, Harrington. Guess you really would be a good baseball player.”

 

Steve smiles dumbly at that and tries to hide behind the rim of his glass. The more he drinks, the better it tastes. The wine glides smoothly down his throat and he’s again filling their glasses before he can stop and think about it.

 

“Let’s sit down,” Steve suggests happily. His lips already feel a bit looser, he feels like getting along with Billy will be a piece of cake.

 

On their way to the couch (Steve brings the bottle of wine along), Billy stops in his tracks to admire the record player sitting atop a chestnut bookcase lined with framed photographs. A small collection of vinyls sits in a pile next to the record player and Billy sets his peas and wine down to flick through them.

 

“Those are my mom’s,” Steve explains because, like, all of them are either Paul Anka, June Christy, or Frank Sinatra. Steve may like them but he’s not so certain Billy will, what with the Metallica tape playing in his car on the way to Steve’s house.

 

“Hm,” Billy hums, still leafing through the records. He chuckles at some of them, nods in approval at others, or has no reaction at all.

 

At one record, however, Billy gasps. “This,” he holds it up for Steve to see, grinning with heavy eyes, likely from the wine. Steve is charmed. “I can deal with this.”

 

It’s  _ Wonderful, Wonderful _ by Johnny Mathis. “That’s… mine, actually.” Steve shifts his weight from foot to foot.

 

Billy smirks at him and slides the record out of the sleeve, places it gently in the player and drops the needle. Billy twists a knob, turning the volume up before he takes his glass of wine and bag of peas to let Steve tug him toward the sofa.

 

Steve slumps onto the couch while Billy eases down, sighing as he sits and rests his head against the back of the couch and presses the cold bag to his eye. Steve watches raptly as Billy’s good eye slides shut, his mouth quirked up in a lazy smile. Billy hums along to  _ Will I Find My Love Today _ but soon after the song ends, he starts chuckling quietly. Then it grows until he’s giggling like a child.

 

“This is ridiculous,” Billy remarks in disbelief. His head lolls over and he raises his brows at Steve. “This is fucking unbelievable.”

 

Steve’s face is warm from the alcohol. “Yeah,” he breathes in agreement. Looking at Billy with one hand full of frozen peas and the other holding a glass of wine, eye slightly swollen from Steve’s own fist, sitting on his fucking couch as they listen to one of his favorite albums while they’re  _ handcuffed _ together… it’s gotta be one of the strangest situations Steve has found himself in. And he’s had his fair share of strange. This almost beats battling interdimensional demons.

 

At least  _ this _ won’t give him nightmares. Probably.

 

“Why?” Steve says out of absolutely nowhere, his tongue thick in his mouth. “Why did you break Max’s skateboard?”

 

Billy glares at him and Steve’s afraid he ruined whatever tolerance Billy had been building up for him.

 

But then Billy sighs, wincing when he presses the peas too hard against his eye. “It wasn’t on purpose,” he says it quietly with his jaw set, not looking at Steve. “You were too busy going mama bear on me to stop and ask, though.”

 

Steve rolls his eyes at that but Billy’s words interest him. He presses carefully. “How do you accidentally break a board in half? I’m curious…”

 

“First of all, it was already broken,” Billy explains and Steve bites his tongue when he nearly points out that Billy is the reason it was like that to begin with. “And second, if the little shitbird didn’t leave it laying around where someone could trip on it, then we wouldn’t be in this situation.”

 

Steve sits in silence while he stares at Billy, dumbfounded. “So you just… tripped on it?”

 

Steve’s unsure whether the blush on Billy’s face is from the wine or not.  _ “Yes.” _

 

“Because Max left it laying around?”

 

Billy gives up on the peas, tossing them onto the coffee table. “That’s what I said, isn’t it?”

 

Steve ignores Billy’s tone and raises his glass. “To Max.”

 

Billy looks at him for a long time and Steve feels as though the handcuff burns the skin of his wrist. But then Billy’s face is turning up into a smile as he turns his head away and he looks almost  _ shy, _ though Steve knows that’s just the wine making him read into it too much.

 

Billy touches his glass to Steve’s reluctantly and they both wince and then laugh when they knock together so hard they almost shatter.

 

“To Max, I guess.”

 

They’re quiet for a little bit. Steve refills their glasses, using two hands, tugging Billy along. He doesn’t seem to mind.

 

Steve’s head starts to swim a little. He’s got a pleasant buzz and he’s feeling a little gutsy, playful even. “Y’know,” he starts with a stupid smile because that’s all he can think to do right now. “Maybe I have brain damage from how hard you hit me, but I think-” Steve stops because he suddenly feels really stupid.

 

But Billy’s not letting him off the hook. “What do you think?” Steve doesn’t answer so Billy leans over and nudges him with his shoulder.  _ “Steeeve,” _ he singsongs, jerking the chain connecting them. “Tell me what you think, pretty boy.”

 

Steve lets his gaze fall on Billy and his bright, shining eyes. He sighs. “I think, um, Hopper might be right. I dunno, maybe I’m just stupid. But… I don’t know, I-”

 

Billy crosses his legs which catches Steve’s eye, making him lose his train of thought as he follows the lines of his legs, his strong thighs in those blue jeans. “You’re sweet, Harrington,” Billy drawls and takes a sip of his wine. He brings Steve’s hand over the back of the couch so his arm lays across it, tucks his elbow into Steve’s, then he twists his wrist so he can lean into his own arm. Steve chokes on air and he’s not sure why. “I like you, too.”

 

Steve huffs a laugh, half embarrassed and half relieved Billy speaks his language.

 

The record cuts out, catching Billy’s attention and thank God, because Steve was just starting to lean in closer for some reason. Being pulled by some supernatural force. Or maybe he’s just tipsier than he thought.

 

Billy stands and so of course Steve does as well. Billy rifles through some of the records and finds a collection of Johnny Mathis’s singles, spins it around in his skillful hands before he plays it.

 

_ Chances Are. _

 

Steve grins; it’s one of his favorites. He makes to go back to the couch but Billy won’t budge from where he stands. Steve looks to him, about to pull him to sit down but the sight of Billy grinning softly at him, swaying slightly, stops him dead in his tracks.

 

And then, fuck, Billy tugs on the chain between them and jerks his head, choosing not to speak the words. Luckily, Steve understands him.

 

“You wanna dance?” He chuckles but Billy’s already joining their cuffed hands like it’s no big deal. “Just ask next time.”

 

_ “Guess you feel you’ll always be,” _ Billy sings softly. He’s got a great voice. _ “The one and only one for me…” _

 

Their “dance” is mostly just Steve standing still, holding Billy’s fucking hand as Billy leans into him and sings so beautifully that Steve can’t stop smiling at him. Billy throws his other arm around his shoulders and leans into his neck, his breath hot against his ear.

 

_ “Chances are you’ll believe the stars that fill the skies are in my eyes,”  _ Billy sings and becomes heavier against Steve. Steve gulps and slides his free hand around Billy’s waist, under the rough material of his denim jacket. Feels him breathe, the warmth of his skin through his shirt.

 

Billy chuckles softly into his ear, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. “You drunk yet, Stevie?”

 

Steve has to swallow, his throat is so tight and dry. “N-no. You?”

 

“No,” Billy breathes. The song changes to  _ It’s Not for Me to Say. _ Billy picks his head up from Steve’s shoulder and looks him in the eye, looking open and inviting. His mouth is so red.

 

“Billy-” Steve starts uneasily and he’s cut off by Billy’s mouth on his own.

 

But Billy pulls away all too quickly. “Sorry,” he apologizes and tries to move away from Steve, forgetting about the handcuffs. He tugs on them a bit helplessly, looking at the floor. “I just… read it all wrong. Sorry.”

 

Steve is reeling from the shock of Billy kissing him. He’s mostly surprised at how nice, how  _ natural _ it felt to kiss him. Because of course the first boy he kissed is Billy. Why would it be anyone else? He’s glad it’s not someone else.

 

“I’m only sorry you stopped,” Steve tells him and the raw honesty almost hurts his chest.

 

Billy finally looks at him again and Steve sees clearly the shock painted across his face in big block letters.

 

And then he sees the whole picture: Billy's too alive to be in his house. His house is usually so empty and quiet, but here Billy is, taking up all the space and he's big and bright and beautiful, oh Christ, he's beautiful. He's loud and a bit of a dickhead but Steve is too and he's sweet sometimes like it's a secret, his and Steve's secret and it's thrilling. He's defiant and oddly honorable when he wants to be and there's so much more Steve wants to know about him, to unravel him until he's bare in every way. Maybe he's even bruised in the same places Steve is.

 

Billy takes a tentative step closer to him and Steve allows him to grip the front of his shirt. And then Steve can’t take it anymore. He takes Billy’s face in his hands and kisses the life out of him. Billy sighs happily against his lips and Steve’s heart does this dumb thing where it flips in his chest.

 

“C’mere,” Steve mumbles against his lips before he walks backwards toward the couch. They fall onto it together, sitting almost on top of each other.

 

Their mouths move together lazily, the wine making everything slow and fuzzy.  _ Shit, _ Billy’s mouth feels even better than it looks. His lips are soft and his tongue is warm when it slips into Steve’s desperate mouth. When Steve’s hand is gripping Billy’s hair a bit too tightly and he’s worried he might actually devour him, he lets up, pulling away with one last lick into Billy’s inviting mouth.

 

Billy’s eyes open slowly and he smiles dumbly at Steve. Steve chuckles breathlessly and lightly shoves Billy’s face into the couch. Billy giggles wildly and pulls their cuffed hands closer to himself, laying his head in the crook of Steve’s elbow against the back of the couch.

 

Billy licks his lips and reaches out to play with Steve’s mussed hair. “What are you doing after graduation, Harrington?”

 

“You’re seriously asking about that when you just had your tongue down my throat?”

 

Billy shrugs. “I like talkin’ to you.”

 

“Uh,” Steve blinks, over the moon. “I dunno. Work, probably.” Billy’s fingers in his hair feels so nice.

 

“Where?”

 

“Don’t know,” he admits. “What about you?”

 

“Prostitution,” is Billy’s immediate response.

 

Steve lets out a startled laugh. “Yeah? What makes you say that?”

 

Billy raises his brows suggestively. “Well, for one thing I’d be great at it. I’m definitely hot enough.”

 

“Yeah,” Steve sighs, leaning into his hand. He turns his own hand upward to play with the untamed curls behind Billy’s ear. “All the girls seem to think so.”

 

“Don’t you agree with them?”

 

“What?” Steve’s face burns and he knows Billy can see it. “No,” he lies like they weren’t just sucking face.

 

“You just agreed that I’m hot,” Billy points out helpfully, damn him.

 

“Yeah, but like - I’m - just, like,  _ objectively _ speaking. Sure.”

 

“Well then, speak  _ subjectively. _ What do you think of me?” Billy taps his socked foot against Steve’s own.

 

“Aside from you being an actual asshole? Nothing much.” It comes all too naturally, the biting remarks. But they feel different in his mouth now, after his mouth has been introduced to Billy’s own.

 

Billy cackles. “You’re funny, Stevie. And you’re honest. I like that in a man.”

 

“You’re insane,” Steve breathes, trembling.

 

“Yeah? Is that a turn-off?” Billy quirks his brow in challenge.

 

“No,” Steve says because apparently he’s letting the alcohol talk. Just the alcohol. “Kind of a turn-on, honestly.”

 

Billy’s eyes are positively shining. “Is that right, baby? I turn you on?”

 

His voice is deep and sultry and Steve’s glad they’re sitting down because otherwise his knees would be buckling at Billy’s words.

 

He feels himself nod minutely and then he swallows, his throat dry as the desert. “J-just a little bit, yeah. Sure.” Fuck, it feels so weird to be saying all this shit to Billy’s face, but it feels good, too. Freeing.

 

“Just a little bit?” Billy tilts his head like he’s disappointed. “Man. Maybe I can fix that.” Billy scoots closer so their hips are pressing together. Then, he throws his left leg over Steve’s lap, his thigh right up against Steve’s interested dick, and leans in close to mumble, “This way, I can feel you when you’re turned on. Is that alright, pretty boy?”

 

Steve nods, eyes drooping as he practically drools over Billy’s thick thigh pressing against him. He wants to rut up into him, God, he could devour him whole. But he tries to control himself.

 

“More than alright,” he confirms, his voice coming out husky all on its own.

 

The way Billy’s face goes from proud to awestruck and blushing at Steve’s voice is a sight to behold. He smiles, further tangling his hand in Steve’s hair. Steve lets go of Billy’s hair and takes a chance, heart pounding as he reaches to hook a finger in Billy’s belt loop. He tugs lightly, enough to make his delicious thigh rub into his thickening cock. He can’t hold in a little sigh at the friction.

 

“Mm, I can already tell you’re big,” he breathes right into Steve’s ear and Steve feels the bulge against his hip, shuddering at the fact that Billy’s getting hard pressed right up against him. “Can’t wait to have your cock in my hand, baby.”

 

Steve can’t help it. He whimpers, grabs at Billy’s thigh and presses up into him, into his heat and solid muscle. He wants those thighs spread for him, wrapped around his waist, fuck, maybe even his face. What a thought.

 

Billy hums, grinning, as he leans in and presses a soft kiss right under Steve’s ear. He brings his right hand up to tuck Steve’s hair behind his ear and he chuckles at Steve’s limp hand that comes with it. “These fuckin’ handcuffs...” Steve lets out a breath of laughter, though he’s mostly concerned with the minute thrusting of Billy’s hips against his own thigh. Billy tugs on the chain connecting them, bringing Steve’s hand toward the front of his jeans. “Wanna feel how hard you make me?”

 

Steve has never done anything like this with a guy before but he doesn’t hesitate when Billy asks him. He nods eagerly and lets Billy guide his palm onto the bulge in his pants. And, oh. It’s way more arousing than Steve had predicted, to feel Billy’s eagerness, to feel his cock so hard for  _ him _ .

 

Billy bites his lip and his hips stutter up into Steve’s hand. Shit, he actually likes the way it feels against his palm. He presses just a little harder and relishes the way Billy gasps against his neck.

 

“Where else?” Steve asks breathlessly, pressing one hand into Billy’s erection and the other’s fingers digging into his thick thigh. “Where else do you want my cock?”

 

Billy groans. “Shit,” he whispers and then picks his head up to look Steve in the eye. “Everywhere, baby. In my mouth, between my thighs... Maybe I’ll even let you fuck me.”

 

Steve presses Billy’s thigh into his dick and moans. Thinking about fucking Billy, like actually opening him up and doing it... it’s overwhelming, so Steve focuses on something else. “You’d let me fuck your filthy mouth?” Steve has no idea where this new vocabulary is coming from. He supposes it’s another effect Billy has on him. He likes it.

 

“In a heartbeat,” Billy confirms and he finally, finally brushes his lips against Steve’s again. He leans away when Steve chases his mouth, grinning smugly. Steve digs his palm harder into his cock in retaliation, loving the sound Billy makes for him. “Fuck, Steve. I’ll gladly let you fuck my face.” Steve groans and his hips stutter into Billy’s thigh, “I’ll take you as deep as I can, baby, and then I’ll make you come down my throat. Swallow it all up, too.”

 

“Fuck,” Steve whispers, cock leaking in his pants. He pulls Billy onto his lap entirely, loving how he looks down on him like he’s just stolen the breath from his lungs.

 

“I like it when you put your hands on me like that,” Billy breathes with wide eyes. “Is this how you want me to take you? Ride you like this?”

 

Steve makes a strangled noise. “Your mouth...”

 

“What about my mouth?” Billy smirks and his eyes close in pleasure when he rocks their hips together, sighing. “I’m gonna put it everywhere I can, all over you. Taste you.”

 

“Fucking kiss me and prove it,” Steve grabs Billy’s hips and forces him to move back and forth, his ass rubbing Steve’s cock and making both of them gasp.

 

Billy listens. He slides his left hand around Steve’s neck, fingers brushing his hair, and presses their mouths together. As expected, Billy tastes like wine but also like something sweet and more intoxicating than the actual alcohol. Their mouths move together without any sort of coordination but it’s still exhilarating, stupefying.

 

Steve keeps his left hand on Billy’s hip and slides his right up the smooth expanse of his chest, feeling the swell of his pectorals where his shirt hangs open, up his throat, around his neck where he can bring him closer. Billy’s thick, warm thighs are straddling his hips and Steve moans into his mouth, pressing up into him.

 

“C’mere,” Steve pants after he detaches his swollen lips from Billy’s, jaw beginning to ache. He pushes Billy to lie on his side before lying down with him, letting Billy’s head lay in the crook of his elbow.

 

Billy slides his left hand up between them to rest against Steve’s chest. He brings their connected hands down, down until they’re palming at each other’s erections, sighing with relief. “Should we get more comfortable?”

 

Steve nods, his cock throbbing in his jeans.

 

Billy makes quick work of popping the buttons of both of their jeans, unzipping them, and pushing Steve’s boxers out of the way. Billy’s fingers grazing his dick is enough to make Steve shudder. When he wraps his hand around him, Steve groans softly.

 

“I was right,” Billy presses a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth, running his thumb along the vein on the underside of Steve’s cock. “You’re big, and you’re  _ so wet. _ Just for me?” As if to prove it, Billy rubs his thumb over the slit, spreading the precome over the head of Steve’s dick.

 

“Y-yeah,” Steve is having trouble forming words, Billy’s hand on him is so good.

 

And then Billy tugs himself out of his jeans and covers both of their leaking cocks with his fist, dragging Steve’s hand along with it. Steve’s hand brushes Billy’s shaft and Billy has the audacity to gasp softly, as if Steve can handle that. So Steve takes Billy in his hand, heavy and wet at the head, strokes him experimentally and  _ adores _ the way Billy arches his back and whines.

 

Billy’s throat is exposed, just asking for Steve’s attention, so he presses his lips to Billy’s pulse and sucks a little, enough to get Billy to moan helplessly. Billy tightens his grip,  _ yes, _ and speeds up a bit. Steve mimics his actions, the movement a bit awkward due to the goddamn handcuffs, but it’s still better than anything else in the world, probably.

 

“Baby, I’m not gonna last too long,” Billy chuckles and it turns into a moan when Steve twists his wrist just so. “God, you’re so gorgeous…”

 

Steve’s brain feels like mush but he fights past the overwhelming pleasure enough to say, “If you keep calling me baby I’m not lasting another fucking second,  _ shit.” _

 

Billy grabs Steve’s wrist and presses it against the back of the couch. Steve whines at the loss of Billy’s calloused hand, but then Billy’s pressing his cock into Steve’s, grinding them together. They both moan, beginning to move desperately against one another.

 

Billy kisses him, long and deep and Steve could stay like this forever, sighing into Billy’s generous mouth.

 

Pressing his thumb into the exposed skin where Steve’s shirt is riding up, Billy draws tiny circles that make Steve shudder and thrust harder into Billy’s erection.

 

When Billy’s lips leave Steve’s, he’s about to whine in frustration. But then he watches with hungry eyes as Billy’s face scrunches up and he’s moaning brokenly and openly into Steve’s ear. Steve gives one more hard thrust and Billy’s falling apart, coming all over Steve’s own cock.

 

Steve’s enraptured by Billy’s face and all the post-orgasm noises he makes, he doesn’t even realize he’s reached his peak until he’s spilling all over Billy’s spent cock. He cries out suddenly in a burst of dizzying pleasure.

 

They lie panting against each other for an indeterminate amount of time. Steve’s eyes are feeling heavy, his body is drained and buzzing. He’s got a dumb smile plastered on his face, two seconds away from falling asleep but then Billy’s squeezing his hand.

 

“I think the Chief underestimated us,” Billy breathes and Steve dissolves into crazed giggles.

**Author's Note:**

> I have an unhealthy obsession with the idea of Billy and Steve slow dancing.
> 
> Also, I'm thinking of turning this into a series...let me know what you think!


End file.
